Ragnarok
by Seleckt
Summary: Captured, beaten, and taken advantage of, Ragnarok escapes the confines of the Imperials to search for his calling across Skyrim. When he discovers he is prophesied to halt the harbingers of the end of days, he feels the same emptiness, as though it's not his true calling.
1. Chapter 1: Capture

**Author's note:** The first two or three chapters of this are going to be pretty familiar. Due to the whole scheme of this story I have thought out, it's the only real way to start it. I'll try my best to make something that we've all seen interesting by giving some back story that wasn't there in the game to begin with, but there's not much else I can do about it. All descriptions of warmaidens (companions, certain female NPCs, female characters available to be married, and Serana) are described as they are in Bijin's overhaul, and Sads13's Serana Overhaul respectively.

4E 201 14th of Last Seed – Ralof

Ralof had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach since he and his band of Stormcloak soldiers had entered the ravine on the way to the Western Watchtower, just west of Whiterun. Taking this fort was critical to securing a foothold towards pushing out the Imperials from the region. The central location was ideal for spotters and supply runs. Last he had heard, it was stationed by a mere five Imperial soldiers at any given time, which would make it an easy target for his contingent of ten Stormcloaks. "Only a couple more miles, Ralof. Try to keep your pants clean." Isslief jested. "Is this ravine really the best way there? We are open to all manner of things. All it would take is one wandering giant, and we're off to Sovngarde. With rock on both sides, we can't get into formation." Ralof replied, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. "Relax. We have scouts all over the area. If anything is amiss we will be wa-.." Isslief's mocking remark was cut short by an arrow piercing his throat.

"What was that, Isslief?" Ralof questioned. After moments of silence, Ralof had turned around to see the pool of blood collecting around his fallen companion. "Shields up! We've been spotted! It's an ambush!" Ulfric shouted. Normally, the Jarl would not participate in reconnaissance missions, but he was never one to sit out a battle. Much to the chagrin of his soldiers. Ralof scanned the area, desperately trying to find the source of the arrow that had ended his old friend's life. The spring Skyrim winds were not on his side, as they were whipping sand and dirt into his eyes from every direction. "Well, look what I've found here. A group of insurgents looking to trespass on MY land." General Tullias had said from the top of the ravine. "And what's this? You've even hand delivered that traitorous murderer right to me! I can practically smell my promotion to Captain."

"Lay down your weapons. We have troops on all sides. You can leave here in chains, or in a cart on the way to some cliff where we will dump your corpses. Traitors like you don't deserve a proper funeral." Ralof had frantically looked around for any possibility of escape or means to fight back, but found none. But he'd be damned if he went down like a milk drinking coward. He tightened his grip on his war axe and raised his shield, ready to pass on to Sovngarde. "All right, throw down your weapons. We have no other choice." Ulfric said solemnly. Moments passed, but nobody had thrown down their weapons, not wanting to be run through without at least spilling some Imperial blood. Until finally, after what seemed an eternity, the clanking of wood and iron could be heard hitting the earth. One after another, the soldiers had all thrown down their weapons and shields, waiting for their death or capture.  
"That's what I like to see. Stormcloaks following orders like the obedient dogs that you are." mocked Tullias. Ralof heard the clattering of steel as the Imperials had begun their advance towards them.

4E 201 15th of Last Seed – Lokir

Only a few more moments and the poison should be taking effect on the gullible stable master. It would not kill him, only render him unconscious for just long enough to saddle up a horse and gain some distance to Hammerfell. It was his own fault really. One thousand Septims for a horse? Who in their right mind would spend that much coin on a stupid beast anyway. Just as he finished that thought, the thump of the stable keeper's head hitting the table indicated it was time to leave. He took an old saddle hanging on the divider in the stable and mounted up the remaining horse. It was old, with a graying mane and had trembled slightly when Lokir mounted it, but it would serve well enough to get him to Hammerfell.

Only minutes into the ride did Lokir regret not bringing extra furs with him, as the latent snow driven airborne by the gentle breeze felt as though he were being cut by hundreds of tiny daggers on his bare arms. "Can't you move any faster you decrepit excuse for a horse?" Lokir mused to himself. The horse seemed to understand him however, and slowed down seemingly out of spite. He rode for hours until dusk, when he set up camp against a rocky mountainside and bed down for the night by the fireside.

His rest was interrupted by a sword point digging into his chest and the shouting of the wielder. Lokir reflexively jumped up, only serving the drive the sword to breaking the skin. Delirious from having woken up only seconds earlier, he couldn't make out what his assailant was shouting. "Wake up, thief. You're coming with us." shouted the Imperial guard once more. "If I have to say it again, you'll be losing a lot more than a few drops of blood." Lokir shakily rose to his feet, shielding his eyes from the early morning sun. "What are you talking about? I am no thief!" protested Lokir, desperately attempting to buy time in hopes for plotting an escape. "Is that so? Well, word is a horse was stolen after the stable keeper was drugged in Markarth. This one seems to match the description."

"I.. This is my horse! Handed down from my father!" cried Lokir, hoping the guard wouldn't see through his lie. "Care to show me your ownership papers then? Should be right in the saddle." The guard said, knowing full well he had caught the horse thief in a lie. "Ah.. Yes of course.. My papers. Allow me." Lokir walked over to the horse as calmly as he could manage. As he approached, the horse reared and bucked, trying to get as far from his captor as possible. "He doesn't seem to like you very much. Strange thing, since this horse has been in your family." The guard mused. Lokir had decided that the ruse wasn't working at tried to make a break for it. He didn't get more than ten feet before the guard's sap had met the back of his skull, rendering him unconscious.  
_

4E 201 17th of Last Seed – Ralof

It had been three days since their capture during the Imperial ambush. They of course had not been fed or given any accommodations to protect themselves from the weather in that time. They were weak from hunger and exposure to the harsh elements of Skyrim. Not only that, but the Imperials often got bored in their journey, and the only thing that seemed to sate that boredom was to mercilessly beat one of them. A handful of them had died because of this, and were left on the roads for the wild beasts to devour. Neither Ralof nor Ulfric could do anything to aid them, as they were bound to the carts, and Ulfric had his mouth bound closed to prevent him from using his power over the Thu'um.

They had picked up more so called criminals along the way, one being a horse thief and another was a Nord who Ralof knew nothing about, other than what he could gather just by looking at him, due to his being unconscious since his capture. Scars across his face an arms told a story of warfare or one too many run-ins with cutthroats, and was the largest built man Ralof had ever seen. Long unkempt black hair and just as long a beard to match hid most of his facial features. He wasn't sure where they were, but the landscape was somewhat familiar like he had been there before. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine before you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell." spat the horse thief. "You there, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." He said to the Nord across from him, how long he had been awake Ralof wasn't sure. "We're all Brothers and Sisters in binds now, thief." replied Ralof.

"Shut up back there!" the carriage driver yelled impatiently. "What's wrong with him?" Said Lokir, gesturing to Ulfric. "Watch your tongue, you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" Ralof yelled. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion.. But if they captured you, Gods, where are they taking us?" murmured Lokir, the color draining from his face as he realized the gravity of the situation he was in. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof replied.

As they neared their destination, Ralof remembered where they were. Helgen, a small fortress south of Riverwood. He used to be sweet on a girl from there. She made mead with juniper berries mixed in which complimented the sweetness of the honey perfectly. "Why are we stopping?" said Lokir frantically. "Why do you think? End of the line." Said Ralof. As the prisoners stepped down out of the carriage, the Imperial soldiers were taking role call to ensure none of them had escaped along the line.

"Ralof of Riverwood." announced the Imperial clad in guilded leather armor. Ralof took his place in front of the executioner's block with the rest of the doomed. "Lokir of Rorikstead." Continued the soldier. "Wait! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Cried Lokir, frantic to do anything he can to avoid his fate. "You're not going to kill me!" He shouted as he attempted to run. "ARCHERS!" yelled the Imperial Captain. Before she even finished the word, the archers had knocked an arrow and let it fly, planting the arrow firmly into the back of the escapee's skull.

"Anyone else feel like running?" She exclaimed, challenging anyone in the group to try and make an escape. "Wait. Who are you?" Inquired the guard with the list of names, gesturing to the large Nord exiting the carriage. "Ragnarok of Markarth". Said the Nord, his voice deep, unintentionally booming across the courtyard. The kind of voice that inspires loyalty in allies and fear in enemies. "Captain, he's not on the list. What do we do?" The guard inquired. "Forget the list. He goes to the block." said the Captain. "At least you'll die here, in your homeland." Said the Lieutenant, attempting to offer some sort of comfort the Nord who obviously had nothing to do with the Stormcloak rebellion.

The prisoners had lined up in front of the headsman's block, all mentally preparing for their journey to Sovngarde. It was at this time did Ralof fully grasp how enormous this Nord was. He stood at least two heads taller than himself, and was twice the girth. "You must have some giant's blood in you, eh Ragnarok?" He jested, trying to enjoy some humor in his last moments. A grin had spread across Ragnarok's face and turned to face Ralof. "Not the first time I've heard that. Starting to believe it myself." he replied. "It was probably my mother. I heard she was quite the sight to see, and not in a good way." The thought made Ralof chuckle, at least he had found someone in his final minutes who could appreciate some laughter in the face of death.

"You heard? Never met your mother?" Ralof questioned. "No. Nor my father. I was just a babe when the Forsworn Uprising happened. Both of my parents were killed in the conflict." Ragnarok replied. "Perhaps you will meet them in Sovngarde, friend." Ralof said, attempting to bring the massive Nord hope. "I doubt that. from what I hear, my father died screaming in a puddle of his own shit. And my mother had fled. Hardly the type to be allowed into the Great Hall." He spat, venom dripping from every word. Ralof couldn't think of any reasonable response, so he resigned to ending the conversation and waiting for his death.

As the heads of his comrades began to roll, the stench of blood and fear became almost unbearable. Some of them had soiled themselves, unable to cope with the fact they only have minutes left to pray to whatever god they worshiped. Ralof wondered why they had ever joined the rebellion if they hadn't accepted their fate from the first day. The heavy thump of the executioner's axe hitting the block, and the wet crack of it separating heads from shoulders was starting to gnaw at his resolve however. He had hoped he was next in line, just so save himself from seeing another brave warrior die on his knees.

An ear piercing shriek could be heard carrying on the wind, like something Ralof had never heard before. It shook him to his core and instilled a greater fear than the headsman's axe ever could. Was it the death throes of one of his soldiers? No.. It was more.. Feral. He had wished the executions would hurry on and end his mortal life. The anticipation was worse than the thought of death. "Next! The Nord in the rags!" The Captain called. Ragnarok strode forward, without a hint of hesitation.

He knelt down beside the bloodied executioner's block and stared down the headsman, almost challenging him to unbind his hands. His speechless challenge was cut short by the Captain's foot on his back, forcing his head down to the block, never breaking eye contact with his soon to be beheader. "WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT?!" Cried an archer from a northern turret. "Scouts, what do you see?" Questioned the Captain. Another shriek and a flash of black, momentarily eclipsing the sun before diving behind the garrison had caught Ralof's eye. It appeared to be some kind of malformed bird, but it was immense. Fear again struck him, "Come on, hurry, hurry up and kill me." He thought. He had no intentions of discovering whatever that thing was.

Just as the executioner was about to let his axe fall on Ragnarok's exposed neck, he was knocked from his feet by an.. earthquake? No.. Far too short to be an earthquake. When Ralof regained his footing, he looked up to find dread incarnate staring him down. A dragon perched atop the battlement, gazing around the fort before bellowing some kind of force which again knocked him on his back. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the nearest tower, hoping to hide himself from the monumental beast that was devouring the Imperial soldiers. He stopped short and looked back at the executioner's block, to find Ragnarok on his feet, just starting at the dragon. "MOVE, RAGNAROK. THE GODS WON'T GIVE US ANOTHER CHANCE!" He shouted, hoping he could be heard amongst the chaos.

Ragnarok snapped out of his trance and ran to meet with Ralof in the tower. "Gods, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" exclaimed Hadvar. "Legends don't burn down villages." remarked Ralof. "Come on, up the tower. We have to find a way out of here" he continued. As he and Ragnarok clamored up the steps, there was an explosive eruption mere feet ahead of them. The damned dragon had torn down the wall, and was bellowing a gout of flame inside the tower.

Hadvar retreated back down the steps, and looked around for Ragnarok. He was still at the top of the stairs, only inches from the inferno erupting from the dragon's maw. Unflinching and immobile, he waited for the beast to end it's roar and land elsewhere, before leaping from the hole in the tower into a nearby house. He was convinced this monolithic Nord had a death wish, but saw no other option and followed him in the plunge. He landed amongst smoldering planks, which had cushioned his fall, but had burned his right arm. With adrenaline surging he hadn't even noticed and continued on to meet up with Ragnarok.

The dragon had again interfered with their escape, landing directly in their path and sending another fire storm at them, narrowly missing a small child by fractions of a second before lifting off again. Ragnarok charged forward, determined to escape the hold alive. Hadvar could only follow behind and hope to keep up. As they neared the main hall, Ralof had intercepted them. "You damned traitor, out of our way!" Hadvar shouted. "We're escaping, Hadvar. You can't stop us!" exclaimed Ralof. "Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" He retorted. Ragnarok had split off and followed Ralof into the keep.

"No doubt about it, that was a dragon. Harbingers of the end times." Ralof remarked. "Come here. Let me see if I can't get those bindings off." He said, beckoning to Ragnarok. He cut loose the leather straps binding his hands, and instructed him to retrieve the gear of one of his fallen companions, Gunier. "Try that armor on, and give that axe a few swings." He instructed. Ragnarok had wasted no time in strapping on the chain mail Stormcloak cuirass, and wielded the axe, slashing at the air a few times to test it's weight. Ralof mentally noted that Ragnarok was no stranger to weapons, as he manipulated it with the grace of a grand master. Before he could collect his thoughts and search for a way out, he heard the clamoring of Imperial soldiers approaching. "Quick! Get down!" he barked, readying his own weapon for combat.


	2. Chapter 2: Escape

Ralof crouched low to the ground, just to the side of the gate out of sight of the approaching Imperials. Steeling his mind for the coming skirmish, he saw out of the corner of his eye Ragnarok, just standing in the middle of the room. "What in the gods name are you doing?! Get over here! They'll spot you!" He hissed. "Good. Let them come." Ragnarok bellowed in reply, whirling the iron axe in a circular motion in his right hand. He crouched low, and put his empty left hand in front of him, in what appeared to be a flawed combat stance. It left too many limbs exposed, his left leg was too far in front of him, and his left arm was open to be lopped off by even a drunken fool. He was going to get himself killed. By Ysmir, if he wanted to die, Ralof would let him. He wasn't about to survive a dragon attack to be butched by the Imperials because of him. "Prisoner! Halt! Drop your weapon!" Shouted the Imperial Captain. "Come take it!" Roared Ragnarok in return.

The Captain lunged at him, arm held high ready to strike. Ralof was sure he'd see Ragnarok die within the next few seconds. But just before the blade had connected, Ragnarok lunged forward, too close for the arch of the swing to hit him, avoiding the attack. He wrapped his left arm around the Captain's sword arm and twisted his body to the side, flinging the Captain with him to the ground, but maintained his grip on her arm. The inertia had split her elbow in two, forcing the bone through her forearm. While she shrieked in pain, Ragnarok brought down the axe into the top of her skull with a wet crunch, and turned to face the second Imperial guard. The guard was shaken by the hasty death of his comrade, but attempted to charge forward in retaliation. Ragnarok responded with a heavy kick to his ribs, staggering the guard backward, and breaking multiple ribs in the process. Ragnarok whirled around, bringing the axe down to deliver the killing blow, but the guard reacted in time, and stepped backward. Or rather, reacted a fraction of a second too late. While he avoided having his head sheered from his shoulders, he did not avoid the axe colliding with his jaw, severing it completely in a spray of crimson blood. He stumbled backward, attempting to seal the wound with his hand. Ragnarok charged forward, grabbing the guard's head in his hands, and smashing it against the stone walls again, and again until there was nothing but a fine paste left. 

Ralof was stunned, rooted in place by the sheer shock of what he had witnessed. Even the Orcs were less savage in their battles. Ragnarok began to pillage the corpse of the Captain, and Ralof witnessed the aftermath of what had happened to her subordinate. Pieces of brain matter stuck to the crevices between the stones in the walls, and an ever growing pool of blood near the rest of the body. He had seen countless battles and skirmishes, but none even came close to being this gruesome. Try as he might, he could not keep himself from vomiting. "Come now, surely a strong Stormcloak soldier can handle the sight of a little blood." surmized Ragnarok. "Blood.. Yes. This? This is not combat… this is slaughter." Gasped Ralof between retches. "Perhaps if they were even half as skilled at combat as they were at boasting, they would have put up more of a fight" Mused Ragnarok.

Ralof wasn't about to mourn the death of Imperials, but still. He had objections to the brutality he just witnessed. "You don't have to maul them like a beast, Ragnarok. You can put them down with dignity!" Ralof Shouted. "Honor and dignity will get you killed. When you draw a weapon, you fight to kill. Nothing more, nothing less. There are no rules in combat. Perhaps if you realized this, you wouldn't have been captured." snapped Ragnarok. "I.. What about you? You got captured. How did that happen if you don't abide by the rules of combat?" Ralof stammered. "I went willingly." Replied Ragnarok, becoming surprisingly stoic. "Willingly? To the headsman's block? Why in Talos' name would you do that?" Ralof asked. "That, my friend, is none of your concern. If you have issue with how I fight my battles, you may take the next Imperials we come across, and abide by your so called 'rules' if you think you can dispatch them better." Ragnarok coldly replied.

They searched the bodies, or remains of them in the case of the Lieutenant, for a key to the locked door baring their path. Ragnarok took up both of the swords carried by the deceased Imperial soldiers, and had taken the Captain's heavy plate uniform. "How do you plan to defend yourself with both hands on a hilt?" Inquired Ralof. Ragnarok chuckled at the comment."Why defend yourself when you could kill your adversary before he has a chance to mount an attack in the first place?" It was a fair point, but Ralof could not imagine himself going into battle without a quarter inch of wood and steel at his side. As they descended the steps deeper into the keep, the air became cold and damp, like that of a cave. "Guess they weren't too keen on housekeeping, eh Ragnarok?" Ralof jested. Ragnarok had not heard his comment, as he was busy peering into the lock of the next door. "Two imperials in the next room. As per our little bet, they're all yours." He said. "I'll just wait out here until you've dispatched them both." Ragnarok had taken a casual position leaning against the wall with one foot up against it, as though this were some sort of game. "Fine. I will show you how a TRUE Nord fights." Sneered Ralof.

Ralof opened the wooden door as quietly as he could manage, though in the damp tunnels the hinges had rusted over many years ago. The creaking alerted the two Imperials within who were searching the kitchen for supplies. Ralof knew he was spotted and abandoned subtlety in favor of charging the younger guard with his sword raised above his head. The older, more experience guard had anticipated this, and raised his shield to defend his partner, knocking Ralof off balance. The momentary loss of his footing was all the Imperial General needed to launch a counter attack, thrusting his blade into Ralof's left eye. He was a bit short though, and only managed to nick his cheek. Ralof stepped back, hoping to gain distance between him and the General who had severely outclassed him in combat prowess. It was a useless effort however, as the General followed up with a spinning slash, and managed to cut Ralof's ribs deeply. He fell backwards, and the General prepared to deliver the coup de grace.

Just before the tip of his blade was forced through Ralof's throat, the General's arm had fallen to the ground, causing the sword to bounce harmlessly off of Ralof's chest. A spray of blood and a bloodcurdling scream signified the interference of Ragnarok. His axe lodged in the wooden support beam in the middle of the room. "If fighting like a 'true Nord' ends like that, then I guess I will continue to maul my enemies like a beast, as you put it." Ragnarok taunted as he sauntered into the room. The General had fallen to his knees clutching his stumped arm, screaming obscenities at the huge Nord who had just made him left-handed. Ragnarok responded by sending an iron-clad foot into the side of his head, crushing it against the stone walls and fracturing his skull. With small droplets of blood escaping from his ears to join the ocean spraying from his arm, the General went limp as Ragnarok turned to the unnamed subordinate.

Shaking with hesitation, the guard took small steps backward, until he found his back to the wall. With no where to escape, and the colossal Nord closing the distance too quickly for him to come up with a solid method of attack, he attempted a half-hearted thrust into Ragnarok's stomach. Ragnarok effortlessly batted it to the side with his left hand, and grabbed hold of the Imperial's wrist with his right hand. Unable to beat the titanic man in a battle of sheer strength, he tried to free his arm from his grasp. Ragnarok responded by locking the inside of the guard's elbow with his own and forced his own blade into his throat. "He just.. Got lucky.." Ralof gasped through labored breath. "Lucky enough to practically carve out one of your ribs and have it for dinner, eh?" Retorted Ragnarok.

"Just a flesh wound. Look around for something useful in here. Got to be some potions around." Ralof panted. Ragnarok was already pillaging barrels, drawers, hanging pheasant, and whatever else he could get his hands on before Ralof had even finished the sentence. "Found one. It's small, but should keep you going." He said as he haphazardly tossed it to the bleeding out Ralof. Ralof's hands shaking from the blood loss could hardly get the twine unfurled from the cork to open it. After what seemed an eternity fumbling with the infernal cork, he managed to pop it open and guzzle it's contents. The effects were almost instant, the slightly luminous liquid could be seen passing through his esophagus and down to the gaping wound in his chest, sealing it. Ralof took a deep breath and stumbled to his feet. "Never understood how those things worked, but am I glad that crazy alchemist in Winterhold never gave up trying to make these tonics." Ralof said. "But I wish they didn't taste of molten metal and skeever tail."

"Hurry up on your feet then. There's a commotion in the next room." Ragnarok replied. Crouched low to the ground, Ragnarok prowled through the hallway peering into the ensuing chaos. Three Imperials armed with long bows, and another with a sword and shield. They were locked in battle with two other Stormcloaks fighting frantically to escape the keep. Ralof was about to charge in to assist his fellow soldiers but was stopped by Ragnarok's open hand. "Wait. If you go in there now you'd be shot in the neck with an arrow before you had a chance to be useful." Ragnarok scolded. Ragnarok kept his eyes locked onto the Imperial with the shield and waited for his opportunity to strike. "If we keep waiting, those Stormcloaks will be slaughtered! They're out outnumbered!" Ralof shouted in a whispered tone. "The last time we went with your plan, you nearly got yourself skewered. Charge in like an idiot if you want, but I'd like to get out of here alive." Ragnarok replied. Though it pained him to do so, Ralof waited and watched as his comrades fell to the arrows of the Imperials.

As the last Stormcloak fell, the Imperials lowered their guard and began to advance on Ralof and Ragnarok, unknowing they lurked just behind the corner in the next hall. As the shield-bearing Imperial neared the corner, Ragnarok revealed their position by clashing his sword blades together in a steady rhythm. "Who's there? Reveal yourselves or prepare to die!" shouted the Imperial who lacked a ranged weapon. His voice had confidence, but they could see his was practically shaking out of his armor. The steady rhythm of clashing steel had shaken his resolve to the point of not wanting to check the corner, as was Ragnarok's intention. The guard had stood for what felt hours listening to the maddening steel clang together like war drums before finally mustering the nerve to check the hallway, only to be met with a blade through his shoulder. He cried out in agony as the bone was splintered and tendons sliced, but before he had thought of a counter attack, Ragnarok brought the second blade down upon his other arm, severing it at the shoulder. Unable to think through the pain, the guard could only watch as his other arm was cut from his body and fell limp to the ground. Ragnarok spun him around and grabbed him by the neck from behind, advancing into the clearing. Using the incapacitated Imperial as a human shield against the arrows, he advanced forward onto the archers, their arrows sticking into their comrades body only serving to increase his suffering.

Ralof wasted no time in removing the severed arm still gripping the fallen shield and following in the advance toward the archers. Keeping the shield raised high, and crouched low, he rushed as fast as hit feet would carry him toward his attackers. Ralof closed the distance before the archers could knock a second arrow and bashed them with all the might he could muster against the stone walls, knocking the first unconscious, before raising the shield again to attack the next. The archer, knowing his bow was ineffective at such a close range abandoned it in favor of his iron dagger. But even that was just as ineffective against a sword and war axe, and was swiftly cut down by Ralof. "THAT, is how a true Nord fights." Ralof yelled between labored breaths. "Is it now? I thought it was back when you were on your back, bleeding and facing death?" Ragnarok jested. "Very funny. Come on, there is a cave up ahead. I think it leads out." Ralof responded.

Ralof wondered why the keep had lead into a cold stream baring cave at the bottom, but never the less, it could provide their escape. They advanced forward, noting the thick cobwebs starting to appear all over the cave as they ventured further down. A faint skittering and clattering could be heard as the rounded the next bend, a sound all too familiar to any Nord who had spent any time in these kinds of caves. "Frostbite spiders… I hate those things. Too many eyes." Ralof said. Ragnarok grabbed a lit torch from a sconce on the wall and cautiously proceeded into the spider's nest. He waved the torch around, repelling the enormous spiders just long enough for them to escape down the next pathway, blocking it off with a stray cart. Ralof breathed a sigh of relief before turning around and saw the grizzly they had awoken in their scramble. Ragnarok wasted no time in charging forward and meeting the bear head on. Even on it's hind legs, challenging them in it's den, Ragnarok was nearly taller and had almost as much girth as the huge grizzly. The bear attempted to swipe at Ragnarok, only to be swiped back at in return with Ragnarok's sword. Ralof couldn't shake the feeling that their movements were almost identical, further proving his point that Ragnarok did fight like a beast. The difference was Ragnarok hosted a lethal intelligence, able to pinpoint when an enemy was vulnerable, which lead to the bear's untimely death with a sword driven through the side of it's neck.

The air had turned exceedingly cold, with wind whipping at their backs, indicating a cave opening was near by. "Come, friend. I think I see a way out." As they rushed along the path, they saw a light at the end of the tunnel in the form of a small crevice leading out to Skyrim, to freedom. They clamored up to the cervice, Ralof leading and squeezed out into the harsh snow of the Skyrim wilds. He turned, unsure if Ragnarok could fit his titanic frame through the tight squeeze, but he had somehow managed and was close behind. It was only then could he really see the aftermath of Ragnarok's battles in the bright light of the sun. He was completely drenched in blood and gore, covered more in red than in armor. His hair matted to his forehead, and blood still escaping through the crackes in the stolen Imperial armor. No doubt any of it was his own blood. Just then, he heard the roar of the beast that had allowed their escape, and a shadow cross over the land scape. "Get down! He's circling above!" Ralof shouted. They crouched between some rocks covered by trees and waited for the colossal beast to depart before continuing on the path. "I think I know where we are.. We're just south of Riverwood. If you head down that way, speak to my Sister, Gerdur. She runs the mill in Riverwood." Ralof instructed before heading off to see her and get some much needed rest.


	3. Chapter 3: Riverwood

4E 201 17th of Last Seed – Ragnarok

After watching Ralof disappear into the distance, Ragnarok sat down on a rock to gather his thoughts under the shade of a nearby tree. Why had he allowed himself to be captured? It was simple enough, find a group of patrolling Imperial soldiers which were in abundance these days, Shout something about the Stormcloaks, and kill a guard or two before allowing them to subdue him. But why? He had no explanation for the sudden need to be captured by them. Something deep within him compelled him to journey down this path, and he needed to find out what. Not that he lived a particularly glamorous life as a freelance mercenary before his capture, but it was certainly better than getting himself beheaded. At any rate, it was best he find Ralof's.. Sister? Mother? Who was it he was supposed to meet at Riverwood? He wasn't paying much attention to Ralof's complaints and rants to begin with. Regardless, Ragnarok was certain it'd have a tavern he could drink and sleep in. So, he set off down the road in search of the town.

Only after a few short minutes on the path, he heard the unmistakable shuffling of steel and leather prowling in the trees. Unhooking the Imperial longbow from his back that he had.. "Found" inside the keep, he knocked an arrow and let it loose into the brush in the direction the noise was emanating. "I guess we weren't quiet subtle enough." Said the bandit leader as he emerged from behind the treeline. "Right then. Guess we'll do this the old fashioned way. Hand over your gold or your life!" Ragnarok scoffed, "Afraid you're out of luck. I don't have any gold on me, and I don't feel like handing over my life today." The bandit sneered and drew his sword "I don't like your tone, Nord. Maybe I'll cut your tongue out. See if you can mock me then!" The bandit rushed forward, only to be met with the point of Ragnarok's armored elbow in his chest. The bandit's own armor cushioned the blow enough to prevent any lasting injury, but it was not enough to prevent him from staggering backward. Ragnarok followed up with a swift kick to the bandit's shin. Only being protected by a thin layer of animal hide, his shin fractured and collapsed under the strain of the colossal blow. Falling to the ground, Ragnarok caught him by his left arm and placed it between his legs. With one leg planted firmly on the throat of the would-be thief, and the other on the ground, Ragnarok bent the comparatively small arm backward over his knee, shattering the elbow and rendering the arm useless.

Ragnarok grabbed the sword from the limp arm, but just before he was able to deliver the death blow, an arrow grazed his right shoulder. Chastising himself for becoming so easily distracted by the single bandit, he hadn't noticed the other two approaching his flank. Ragnarok scrambled behind a small rock formation to avoid the arrows hailing down from his rear and tried to come up with a method of attack. The apparent leader was of no threat with his shattered arm, but he couldn't move into the open without gaining a new piercing in the form of an iron arrow through his skull. He failed to come up with any reasonable plan before the approaching foot steps had reached him behind his makeshift cover. With no other choice, Ragnarok leapt and tackled the bandit to the ground, praying the archer had any sort of kinship with him and would not take the shot anyway. As they grappled, Ragnarok kept a close eye on the waiting archer, being careful not to give her a clear shot. Always keeping her compatriot facing her, he grasped for the iron dagger strapped to the bandit's waist and drove it between his ribs. The bandit shouted but did not relent in his attempts to strangle Ragnarok. Unable to get the bandit off of him without being impaled by an arrow, Ragnarok began searching with his hands for the gap in the armor of the bandit on top of him. Finding it near the back, where the leather strips bound the armor to his body, Ragnarok drove the dagger down into the bandit's spine, causing him to instantly go limp, but still very much alive. The female archer shrieked at the sight of her companion apparent death, she let loose volley after volley of arrows. Ragnarok crawled back behind the rocks, dragging the paralyzed bandit with him to shield him from the onslaught of airborne death.

Just as he reached his relative area of saftey amongst the rocks and trees, the archer let loose her final arrow, splintering off of the heavy plate Imperial armor Ragnarok was wearing. Painful, but not fatal. In her blind rage, she unsheathed her dagger and charged Ragnarok, who was ready for her and unleashed a kick to he stomach, sending her hurtling back a few feet. Ragnarok drew his sword, waiting for her inevitable counter attack. She charged again, unthinking and full of rage. Wildly slashing at Ragnarok, who was stepping backward, waiting for an opening. She swiped wide to her left, gouging deeply into Ragnarok's ribs, but left her defenseless before her next swing. Ragnarok took the opportunity to sever the arteries behind her right knee, dropping her to the ground. Wasting no time, he ended the skirmish by delivering a crushing blow to her neck, severing it for the most part, her head only connected to the rest of her body by a few thin strands of veins and flesh. Quickly surveying the area for any additional threats, he sat down and searched his satchel for the potions he had found inside the Helgen Keep kitchen. With only one small potion, he popped open the cork and gulped it down. While it was effective in repairing the majority of the damage he sustained in the fight, he was not fully recovered. He took a few minutes to eat the raw pheasant breast and rabbit leg he had also found. He's not sure why, but he had always found he healed faster on a full stomach.

After an hour or so of recovering, the sun had begun to set and he set on down the path again. It wasn't long before he found on outcropping of strange stones. There were three stones, almost appearing man made with inscriptions of different warriors on them. One appeared to be a mage or wizard, another was a rogueish character, and another was a stout warrior wielding an axe. Unsure why, he felt the need to reach out and touch the stone marked with the warrior. As he did, the inscription lit up, and a magnificent beam of light erupted from the top of the stone, reaching to the stars, drawing a portrait of the warrior inscribed on the stone into the stars themselves. "I really need to find somewhere to sleep. I'm obviously going insane." Ragnarok muttered to himself. He set off down the path again, and found the outer walls of the town mere minutes afterward. Upon entering the town, he could hear the rantings of an old woman shrieking about a dragon she had seen earlier that day. "A dragon! I saw a dragon!" she cried to her son, who was having none of it. "Quiet down, or people will think you're crazy!" He snapped. As her son wandered off to the tavern, Ragnarok approached the old woman who was obviously furious with her son for disregarding her. "You believe me don't you? It was a dragon!" she yelled to Ragnarok. "Aye. I saw it to. It attacked Helgen." He replied. "I may be old, but I'm not senile just yet. I knew what I saw!" she exclaimed, relieved someone had believed her.

"No, you're not crazy old woman. Though your son may be for shrugging off such a serious claim." He said. "Do you know of any place I can sleep?" She gestured toward the inn at the far side of town. "In there is drink and bed if you'd like. Though the bartender is quite the hard case. Very rude that one." She said. Ragnarok headed toward the inn, the question of why he allowed himself to be captured by Imperials that day still gnawing at the back of his mind. It could wait however, what he needed right now was a good flagon of mead and a good night's sleep.


End file.
